


the beginning and end of everything

by thewhitebirds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Coming Out, F/M, Gen, Hearing Voices, Inspired by Brideshead Revisited, M/M, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Sort Of, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Uncle Alphard is gay fight me, Wealth, and Cygnus is a bro, and Walburga is a riot, casual discussion of patricide, toujours pur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhitebirds/pseuds/thewhitebirds
Summary: Alphard, she thinks, will be brought down in the end by this romantic streak, this part of him that believes that parents want their children to be happy, that love conquers all, that people deserve to be treated fairly. She knows better.(There were other Black siblings first, you know. In 1947, Walburga, Alphard, and Cygnus try to keep their hearts and minds and The Family intact, with varying levels of success.)





	the beginning and end of everything

_ I warned you expressly and in great detail of that family. _  
Evelyn Waugh 

_ There must have been a moment, at the beginning, _  
_where we could have said—no. But somehow we missed it._  
Tom Stoppard

"She found out," Alphard says, as Walburga sits down at breakfast. He lights a cigarette, runs a hand through his curls. It's just the two of them this morning on the terrace, and the heavy silver teapot floats over to fill Walburga's cup. Kreacher sets a platter of food in front of her but she ignores it, eyes narrowing. 

"What do you mean, she _ found out_?" 

"I told her. I lost my temper."

Walburga's mouth trembles. She pulls the plum silk dressing gown tighter around her neck, as if it were soft armor. "Oh, Al. But _why_?" 

"I don't bloody know why." Alphard exhales violet smoke and stares at the sky. "I wanted to see how she'd respond. I wanted some kind of reaction, just this once. Some kind of acknowledgement." 

"And?" 

"And nothing," he confirms, smiling mirthlessly. "Bloody marble-faced Mummy." 

Walburga's shoulders slump. Alphard, she thinks, will be brought down in the end by this romantic streak, this part of him that believes that parents want their children to be happy, that love conquers all, that people deserve to be treated fairly. 

She knows better. 

The tea scalds her throat. "What will you do?" 

"I think I'll go to Italy at the end of the summer," he shrugs. "People don't care what you do… who you are over there. Cygnus can take over the estate management, everyone will love that." 

Walburga feels the start of her headache creep up the base of her neck. Soon, the voices will come. Her hands shake and the bone china cup rattles against its saucer. "Italy. Will_—_will he come with you?" 

"No," Alphard says abruptly. "Tiberius wants to stay here and join the Ministry. It turns out I was mistaken about, well, just about everything." 

He clears his throat and looks up at the clouds again. Walburga catches a glimpse of glassy eyes before she stands up and turns away from the table, letting him save face and hating herself for it. 

***

Druella Rosier is examining the tapestry in the drawing room when Cygnus finds her, having managed to temporarily evade Slughorn. He takes a sip of his champagne and wishes it were something stronger. 

"I found Phineas Nigellus," she says, smiling slightly. "And is this the Regulus who—"

"—discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood years before Dumbledore? Yeah, supposedly." 

She turns to survey the party. The room is loud and crowded. Walburga's crimson dress robes are daringly low-cut, and judging by Irma Black's frosty expression, the choice has not gone unnoticed.

"You're a hard one to read, Elle," Cygnus says thoughtfully, and she looks back at him. "I always feel like you have a lot of secrets."

She raises a blonde eyebrow. "Me?" He's right, of course. The Rosiers' financial ruin is no secret, but her careful planning—scheming, really—might be one. Her secret, she thinks grimly, is that the purest of blood doesn't put food on your table and clothes on your back. Her secret is desperation and secondhand robes and constant fear. "But I think I could say the same for you."

Cygnus turns back to the glittering tapestry, expression troubled. "Well. Perhaps my secret is that I'm deeply selfish. I have no interest in greatness. I don't want a Wizengamot seat or public platform or... any of it. All I want is a _ life _ . A normal life, where I can hunt and fly and breed Aethonans without thinking about how the _ noble _ and _ most ancient _—" he stops. "I'm drunk. I shouldn't be saying any of this."

"No," Druella says quietly. She knows what he means, about greatness. She's seen the look in her brother's eyes when he talks about Tom Riddle, and it frightens her. "There's nothing wrong with just wanting to be happy."

He finishes the drink. His eyes, when they meet hers, are appraising and steady. "I think we could be very happy, you and I." 

***

_"Our _Orion?"

"Yes," Walburga says waspishly. "What other Orions do we know?" 

"Have you, er, informed Orion of your plan to marry him?" 

She points her wand at the portable record player to lower Alphard's earsplitting jazz. "I have not," she says. "But it's inevitable. He'll see that when I explain it. It keeps my inheritance. And _ someone _ has to be in charge around here. Orion has no spine, _ you _ plan to frolic around the continent and _ you _think you can bury your head in the sand of a country estate."

Cygnus shrugs. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just insult us both and congratulate you on your upcoming financial merger." 

Alphard, drinking elf-made wine straight from the bottle, doesn't say anything at all. They're lying on a blanket in a secluded part of the grounds, surrounded by trailing jasmine and the low buzz of fairies. 

"I had another nightmare," she tells them, more to change the subject than anything else. If nightmare is even the term for the terrors that come at random, day and night, shrieking and pounding at the inside of her skull. Sometimes, she listens to what they tell her.

"I thought you were taking potions to make them stop." Cygnus has risen up onto his elbows, frowning. 

"They don't always work," Alphard answers for her. "So what did you learn?" 

"You will have children, and they will split open the universe," she tells Cygnus. "And I will have children, and my children will kill me." The words float somewhere, just out of reach. _But in the end she is bitter as wormwood, Sharp as a two-edged sword._

There is quiet for a long moment. 

"Well, it isn't like we haven't talked about doing it before," Alphard finally drawls. "The best way would be to Imperius a muggle and have him bash their heads in."

"No," says Cygnus, with exaggerated patience. "There's no way the Hitwizards would believe a muggle broke in. Now, faking a boating accident, that's—"

"Shut up! Oh, be _ quiet, _ both of you!" They turn and stare at her with something like worry and something like fear. "This is different," Walburga insists hoarsely. "I just _ know. _" The stars above them are thick and bright. Why is she the only one without a star?  


She grabs the wine from Alphard and gulps it like water, letting the bloody liquid drip onto her cheeks and neck. 

She wonders how long she can keep the voices at bay. 

**Author's Note:**

> There were a couple of questions/thoughts I was thinking about when I wrote this. Why isn't there a Black who was an old school friend of Lord Voldemort? Bellatrix's dad seems like a good candidate, so something was up there. Why is Walburga the way she is? And why isn't there more written about Alphard? (If you've gotten this far, thank you!)


End file.
